Jessica Andersen - Dawnkeepers

He didn’t even turn on the light, just stumbled across the eat-in kitchen, headed for the living space that separated two small bedrooms. There was nothing strange about his knowing his way around; the floor plans were the same in all the cottages. There was, however, something seriously weird about the fact that when he was halfway across the living room, he pitched forward and let himself fall, knowing there would be a couch there to catch him.

He landed face-first on cushions he shouldn’t have anticipated, which should’ve been dusty but weren’t. Then there was no more strange familiarity, no more warning bells inside telling him he shouldn’t be there, that he should’ve stayed in one of the renovated cottages or, better yet, in his plain-

ass suite in the mansion.

There was only the darkness. And finally, dreamless sleep.

The day after the eclipse, Rabbit was up early and feeling surprisingly okay, given the amount of magic he’d pulled during the ceremony.

He dragged on clothes at random—it wasn’t like anyone cared what he dressed like—and hooked up his iPod. The tunes were more habit than anything at this point; he was getting sick of the music, not needing the constant thump in his head when there was so much else going on up there.

Lately he’d been leaving the music off, and had discovered an added bonus: Most everyone thought he couldn’t hear them when he had the earbuds in. Okay, so maybe he’d reinforced that by playing deaf once or twice, but why not? It never hurt to have added intel, especially when Strike and the others—and his old man before them—had made it crystal-clear that he was on a need-to-know basis, and, more often than not, he didn’t need to know.

So he’d played deaf. And he’d listened. That was how he knew that things were still wonky with Patience and Brandt—like he couldn’t have guessed that from being around them, and from the fact that the goddess had chosen Alexis— Alexis , for fuck’s sake—as being preferable to Patience for a Godkeeper. Which was just wrong on so many levels he couldn’t even count them.

Patience was kind and steady, a warrior with a conscience. Alexis was . . . well, she wasn’t steady, that was for sure. He wasn’t an aura reader, but ever since that cluster-fuck in New Orleans, whenever he got within spitting distance of her his arm hairs reached for the sky and his stomach jittered. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew he didn’t much want to be around her these days.

When he beelined from his cottage to the mansion for breakfast, though, he soon learned that wouldn’t be a problem. Alexis and Michael—Michael? WTF?—were headed out as soon as Jade locked down the location of some temple or another. Not only that, but Anna’s grad student, Lucius, the one who’d nearly gone makol before the last equinox, had shown up past midnight, looking for some chick Rabbit had never heard of. The guy had been given the hospitality of one of the downstairs storerooms for the time being, poor bastard.

Jox passed along all of that info over breakfast—the royal winikin wasn’t big on gossip, but he didn’t mind talking some, and he made a hell of an omelet, especially when the others were still sleeping off the magic.

Once Jox ran out of things to say about the Michael-for-Nate mate switcheroo, Rabbit said, playing it real casual, “What’s Strike doing about Iago. Do you know?”

The casual part must not’ve come off like he’d hoped, because Jox sent him a sharp look. “Why?”

Rabbit shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Then ask him yourself.” The winikin nodded past Rabbit’s shoulder. “Hey, boss. Breakfast?”

“And lots of it.” Strike took the bar stool next to Rabbit at the big kitchen island and leaned both elbows on the marble countertop. “What’s up?”

The king was wearing a schlubby gray sweatshirt and jeans. The sleeves of the shirt had fallen back to reveal his big forearms, and the marks he wore on his inner right wrist: the jaguar, the royal ju , the teleport’s glyph, Kulkulkan’s flying serpent, and the jun tan beloved mark signifying his mated status.

It was an impressive array on an impressive forearm, and left Rabbit feeling small and inconsequential, which he hated like poison, because it was pretty much his fallback status.

Taking a deep breath, trying to play it like it was just an idea, like it didn’t matter really to him one way or the other, Rabbit said, “I think we should have the PI tag Mistress Truth’s credit cards, phone, and bank accounts.” His heart drummed in his chest, from nerves and need.

Strike’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

“Myrinne got away from the fire; I know that for sure. But you said yourself you couldn’t get a

’port lock off my description. There’s no answer at the tea shop, and the bartender down the road said the place has been closed since the fire. Nobody back in New Orleans is looking for Mistress Truth too hard, because she scared the shit out of the neighbors, and the cops are way busy already.” And Rabbit hadn’t pushed because he hadn’t wanted to make too much noise, in case Myrinne needed to keep it on the down-low. “I think Myrinne might’ve made it back to the shop and lifted Mistress’s plastic.” It was what he would’ve done, and even from their short meeting he knew the girl had survival instincts.

“Maybe,” Strike agreed, nodding his thanks as Jox hooked him up with a mug of coffee. “But we need to find Iago, not Myrinne.”

Speak for yourself, Rabbit thought, but knew that wasn’t going to get him very far with Strike, especially not with Jox listening in. “She’s important.”

“To who, you?” Strike shook his head. “Forget about her, kid. Or if you can’t forget about her, then do your best to help us get through the next few years and then go after her with my blessing. Hell, I’ll even help you look.”

“She said she’d been dreaming.”

Strike went very, very still. “Of you?”

Rabbit shook his head. “Skywatch. She nailed it too, right down to the tree.”

“Well, shit.” Strike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was trying not to admit he had a headache. “That complicates things.”

“We have to find her,” Rabbit insisted, not sure why or how he knew, but positive that it was nonnegotiable. Call it fate, destiny, or hormones, he had to see her again.

“I’ll call Carter.” Strike fixed him with a look. “But let us deal with it, okay? I don’t want you involved.”

A chill creepy-crawled down Rabbit’s neck. “Why not?”

Strike’s expression said, Because you’re a fuckup half-blood and I don’t trust your magic for a second. But aloud he said, “Because we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Given her association with the witch, there might be something in there that we don’t want inside Skywatch. Hell, for all we know this whole thing is a setup. I’ll find the girl, but until we know her story, I don’t want you anywhere near her. Got it?”

The too-ready anger that Rabbit battled on a daily basis flared before he was even aware of it building. Heat coursed through him, flooding his veins and begging to be set free. Forcing himself to remember where he was—and who with—he fought the temptation, tried to cap the anger. Knowing it was rude, he tapped the iPod on and popped one of his earbuds in, hoping the thumping backbeat would drown out the rage. It helped some, but not enough, and the fury had him snapping, “That’s fair.

You and Anna can have your human pets, but I can’t?” He knew he’d gone too far the moment the words left his mouth.

Strike set his jaw. “Watch yourself, kid.”